The Keeper of Thunder
by blah123456
Summary: A wandering bard...a famed mercenary...a green warrior...a foolish jester...all must come together to save Mossflower from the new rising evil. Rated T for some adult moments


A Tale of Redwall

I do not own anything remotely associated with Redwall. It all belongs to Brian Jacques. I do, however, own Lily, Relske Shadowdancer, Coerifke Maplejump, and Fjeolis Truetail D'Juncy, and some other characters.

…A wandering bard…A famed mercenary…A green warrior…and a foolish jester. They must come together and fight against the evil that is rising again in Mossflower.

Chapter One: The Lute, the Sickle, the Saber and the Wit

_Singer, who took your Soul? _

The mousemaid was collapsed on the leafy ground, clutching a wooden lute. Her blue eyes were wide with fright and she was breathing heavily.

"What've we got 'ere?" a nasal voice said. A weasel stepped out from the crowd, obviously a leader. "My, yore a pretty 'un. Whatcha think, she's a good prize, ain't she."

"Aye, cap'n," the others nodded. A scrawny-looking ferret spoke out, "She's good at singin' too, cap'n, got a voice like a lark."

"Really? Well, sing, little missy, sing!" the weasel commanded.

The mousemaid sat up slowly, and strummed her lute.

_Singer, who took your soul?_

_Singer, who sang to death?_

_Singer, who stole your breath?_

_Singer who caught your fall?_

_Singer, run away,_

_Singer, don't come again_

_Singer, play your heart_

_Singer, follow your will._

The weasel laughed as soon as the last haunting note faded away. "Harrharrharr! Harrharr! Ye think yer funny, missy? Well, come on, I'll go first, and then she's anybody's prize, harrharrharr!"

The mousemaid's mouth opened in a voiceless scream as a voice repeated inside her head- "_Singer, who took your soul?"- _and a paw violently ripped aside her tunic.

She lay panting on the ground after the vermin band had left, lying in a pool of blood and grime. She moaned faintly and faded again into darkness as a haunting whisper asked, "_Singer, who stole your soul?"_

_

* * *

_

_Dancer of Shadows, dances on death_

_Assassin._ That word followed the name of Relske Shadowdancer. She was a stark-white ermine, and her eyes were the most unusual emerald green. She had had an obviously beautiful face, but that was gone now, and her face was streaked with a myriad of scars.

"Shadowdancer," a voice hissed from the shadows. The cloaked and hooded figure that was Relske turned around slowly, and in both paws she held sickles on shafts about five feet long. They could also interlock and form one dangerous staff with two protruding sickles, dangerously sharp and wickedly gleaming.

"Come out, don't dawdle," she drawled in a sing-song voice, "_Dancer of shadows, dances on death._"

A black fox, swathed in a dark cloak, stepped out. Peering closely, Relske could see red rings around his eyes. Red paint, and Relske knew what the grim sign meant. It was the sign of the Bloodhunt Horde, and their bloodthirsty leader, Mosok Xares.

"I come for my master, Mosok Xares, Lord of Mossflower and Bringer of a New Age," the fox intoned, "He requests the completion of a job."

"How much?" _He is NOT the lord of Mossflower, you fecking idiot! _

"Thirty thousand avels," answered the fox.

Inwardly, Relske was surprised. Thirty thousand avels was a fortune! "Who is the…recipient?" she asked coldly.

"Someone…someone who is the leader of a peace resistance. Abbot Frundle of Redwall."

Relske sucked in a deep breath. The Abbot of Redwall? This job would be the hardest of all. Relske felt her burning desire for vengeance flare up again. It had been conquered for the last few years..but… She was paid to kill the corrupt by the corrupt! The Abbot was one of the few not corrupted…but Relske knew, that if she didn't kill the Abbot, Mosok Xares would be after her, because she would know his plans. Bloodhount Horde vs. Relske Shadowdancer was a very predictable outcome, with Relske more or less ending up dead.

"I'll…take it." Relske's voice was hesitant, almost reluctant. "But why not kill the Champion?"

"The champion is an ermine," the fox's flat voice told her all she need to know, but he kept speaking, "His name is Eislek Nightfire.

"Abandoned at the age of a season, Nightfire is the son of Mosok Xares. And Lord Xares wantes him back. To train him as his heir. But the Redwallers took him in, cared for him, and now he is one of them. It is your job to persuade him to come back- for an extra ten thousand avel."

"As I said, I'll take care of it," said Relske carelessly, but her mind was in turmoil. _I've heard of Eislek Nightfire_.

"Good. The Lord Xares hopes for you to succeed."

* * *

_Follow the rhythm, it is an art_

"Good. Thrust, slash, parry!" an old squirrel called out, moving with more grace and agility than expected at his age. In one hand was a wooden sword, and he was facing a younger version of him, also with a wooden sword.

"Good, Rif, but swordfighting is not just strength. It's an art. You follow the beat in your movements, you need to sink into the routine! Swordfighting…it is a routine of grace, follow the rhythm!"

"Yes Dad." The young squirrel was Coerifke Maplejump, or more often called Rif.

"Let's try that again. Left, sidestep, thrust, parry, downward slash, jab to the throath, block, and bravo!"

Rif had been attacking and his father on defense. Rif had made a few bumbling mistakes that would have cost him his life in a real fight, but with determination, the squirrel had cleared his father of his sword.

"Thanks Dad!" the squirrel grinned happily, "I'll be a great swordsbeast for sure! Maybe I'll even be able to rival the famed mercenary Relske Shadowdancer one day!"

"You will son, you will," said Oakleaf Maplejump, smiling at his son. "Just make sure you work hard."

"Yes Dad."

"Now lets get some supper. I think your mother's been making hazelnut pie."

"Yum!"

The Maplejump family was gathered around the dinner table in their drey. There were six squirrels in the family; Oakleaf, Silverbark, Coerifke, Aleksena, Zelke, and baby Erien. All looked similar with a coat of reddish-brown fur, and a strikingly red-golden tail.

"Rif's been working hard on his swordfighting," said Oakleaf proudly to his wife, Silverbark, "How is Sena coming along with the archery?"

"I hit five bullseye in a row, Dad!" piped up Sena proudly, "Ma said I could have an extra slice of hazelnut pie!"

Zelke immediately started arguing with Silverbark. "Ma, that's not fair! I almost hit the middle of the leaf with my knife today!"

Rif almost zoned out of the conversation, smiling at the antics of his siblings, but froze.

"Dad," he whispered, "I hear something."

Oakleaf immediately bounded from his chair and peered down the drey. He quickly came back and motioned for them to be quiet. "Vermin," he whispered softly.

They sat there in stiff silence, with Silverbark's paw clasped across Rien's mouth. Then suddenly, Rien let out a loud wail.

_Oh no_. Rif drew the short knife that Oakleaf had gave him, and Oakleaf drew his dirk. The two squirrels moved so that Silverbark and the youngsters were hid.

"Rif, you run. Go to Redwall. Now!" Oakleaf's harsh whisper told Rif not to argue. Still reluctantly to leave his family in danger (although he had complete confidence in his father to save them) Rif bounded down the sycamore tree and sped towards the great sandstone abbey.

What he missed, was the loud cry of "_Moooosssfloooooowerrrrrrrrrr!"_ and the sickening thunk of metal hitting Oakleaf's body.

* * *

_Get to no someone, and find their soul _

Fjeolis the Foolish. That's what they called him at Salamandastron. Were hares and badgers suppose to be fair and good? Yes. Were they to Fjeolis? No. They called him 'ill', 'mentally challenged', 'sick of mind', 'slow in the head'. Did they ever try to get to really know Fjeolis, or commonly called Fjeo, and realize his foolishness was only because he was deprived of attention? No.

"Wot are you up to, chaps?" Fjeo called merrily to a group of young hares, "Mind if I join you, wot wot?" he chortled happily, eyes crossing and uncrossing at an alarming speed.

The group of hares backed away, muttering excuses, and scattered in different directions.

Fjeolis sighed, and waggled his ears sadly. "No one understands me, wot." His eyes suddenly lit up in happiness, "At Redwall they 'cept everyone, wot? I'll go there! Yessah, Fjeolis Truetail D'Juncy is coming chaps, yessah!"


End file.
